Brotherly Reflections
by moonlight80
Summary: Time’s running out as Sam tries to get Dean to his Specialist. I’d add suspense music here, but come on, we all know how it ends. “Faith” missing scene finale.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Brotherly Reflextions

Author: Moonlight 80

Summary: "I've never actually told him this, if I did he'd laugh at me and call me a girl, but I need my brother." A Faith missing scene. (Yes, another one). Sam reflects while he watches Dean sleep.

A/N: Thank you so much to my awesome beta, Mad Server. She gave me a lot of great ideas that I wouldn't have thought of, and caught a lot of my mistakes and typos.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just a poor student who gets her kicks torturing fictional characters.

XXXXXXX

Dean's asleep. I look at the clock and sigh heavily. It's not even 8:30 yet, and my life of the party, night owl Big Brother is asleep. He'd crawled into bed shortly after I told him about the "specialist" that was going to make him well again. I snort to myself. Specialist. If Dean knew what this guy specialized in, he'd be in the next taxi back to the hospital. Or worse, hotwiring his car and trying to leave town. Why hotwiring, you might ask? Because I hid the keys in the underwear part of my duffle. Last place he'd look.

I look up from my research and watch him for a second. God, he looks so young right now. I mean, not that 27 is old by any stretch, but he's always seemed much older than he really is. It makes sense, I guess. The man raised me from as far back as I can remember. But right now, he just looks very sick and so freaking young. My eyes burn and sting and I blink quickly, not wanting him to see that I've been crying, should he wake up any time soon.

I look at the ceiling thoughtfully. Heart attacks are for old, unhealthy people, not people like my brother, who are young, in great shape and healthy. I've never actually told him this, if I did he'd laugh at me and call me a girl, but I need my brother. God knows I need him, and, after all the people he's saved, and after he set aside his own childhood to give me a halfway normal one, God sort of owes him this whole 'miracle' thing.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that Dean's perfect. Hell, by a lot people's standards, he might not even be worth saving. He swears a lot, drinks more than he should, and chases anything with nice legs. But that's only the Dean he lets them see. They don't know what I know. I have to laugh at that. It's ironic, really. I spent the better part of three and a half years pretending that I didn't know about the other, darker part of this world and wishing that I wasn't just pretending to not know it. Now, I'm so glad I do. So glad I came with him when he asked me to. I mean, even if (God forbid) this Legrange guy turns out to be just another over hyped televangelist who's just better at covering his tracks than most, Dean will have someone to say goodbye to. Someone who'll sit up with him, take care of him, even hold his hand, if he'd let me. He wouldn't, I know that much. At least, not at first. But when the pain got to be too bad, he might.

I shake myself, bringing myself back from these thoughts that hurt even to think. This guy in Nebraska's the real deal. I can feel it. And lately, I'm getting pretty good at feeling things.

Dean makes a noise in his sleep and I'm on my feet and by his bed in a second, ready to do anything he needs me to do to make him more comfortable. I look down at his pale face. He looks like he hurts, even when he's sleeping. It's not the heavy, peaceful sleep that he falls into when he's healthy. It's fitful, restless. His face twitches a little and he makes another noise. I fix his blankets and put the inside blanket from my bed over him. I read that victims of heart disease have a hard time staying warm, because their circulation is so bad. After I watch him for another minute, satisfied that he's not gonna wake up right away, I head back to my chair. The same chair Dean sat in when he first got here. I toss the heart disease pamphlet I'd been looking at onto my now unmade bed and put my chin on my balled up fist. Watching your brother sleep isn't the most exciting thing you can do with your life, but I'm not bored enough to start reading things that will depress me more right now.

I'm jerked out of my boredom by one word. "Sammy?" God, even his voice sounds sick and weak. That's not my brother's voice. It doesn't have any of his usual force or cockiness behind it.

"Yeah Dean?" I try not to sound too different. Too much like I'm pitying him. I get to my feet and head back to his bed.

"Just wanted to see if you were still here." He groans as he tries to push himself up, and I struggle with not helping him. He finally sits up, but he's breathing hard from the amount of work it took to just get that way. "I gotta take a leak." He gets to his feet, but he stumbles as if he's very drunk. I grip his shoulder to steady him, and he doesn't pull away. That worries me a lot. Dean never lets me help him unless he's hurt badly or very sick. He allows me to guide him as far as the bathroom, then fixes his eyes on me. "You're not coming in here with me, Sammy."

I roll my eyes and nod. There are certain points we have to be clear on, and that, it would seem, is one of them. Not that I had any intention of going in there with him to start with. "Sure Dean, but just, don't lock the door."

I hold back a laugh as he flips me off, but he doesn't lock the door. While I wait, I lean against the wall and think about things. Like the fact that his calling me Sammy doesn't bother me at all anymore, even though I still correct him on it. Mostly out of habit. When he came and got me from school and during the weeks after it, it pissed me off to no end, but now? Now it just feels affectionate. Besides, I'm used to it.

When Dean comes out of the bathroom, I straighten up and hold on to his elbow, making sure he doesn't fall. We walk to the bed slowly and I guide him down onto it. He pulls the covers over himself and shivers violently. I twist my hands together, wanting to help him, but not wanting to make him feel smothered. "After Joshua called, I knew I'd have to spring you from the hospital before we went to see this guy. So I picked up some things I thought you could stomach. You wanna try to keep something down?"

Dean starts to shake his head, then looks as if he thinks better of it. "What did you get?"

"Um, I bought beef broth, Jell-O, crackers and grape juice." He used to love grape juice, when we were kids.

His dull, tired eyes light up just a little bit. "Red Jell-O?" He sounds hopeful. He doesn't care what flavor it is, so long as it's red.

"Is there any other kind? You wanna try it?" I don't think anyone can throw up Jell-O. At least, I never have. It was always the one thing I could keep down when I was sick. Still is.

He nods and shivers. "Sam, can you crank the heat up? It's freakin' freezing in here. And uh, we got any tea, while you're at it?"

If it wasn't such a very real possibility, I'd make some crack about how Dean must be dying if he's asking for tea. As it is, I force a smile. "I never thought I'd see the day Dean Winchester would ask for a cup of tea. Unless, of course, it was Long Island Iced. I was actually gonna try to get some down you anyway. I got mint. It'll settle your stomach." I hope I add to myself.

"Good. I'm really cold."

I sigh softly and pull my comforter off my bed. He's gonna need it more than I will. Besides, after I turn the heat up, I'm gonna be sweltering. I put it over him. "There you go." My eyes meet his just a second longer than they should, and he looks away.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at me like that. I know this sucks big time, and I'd do anything for you not to see me like this, but we can't change it. Hell, even if we could, I wouldn't want to. Those kids, they have their whole lives ahead of them. Me? Dude, for a hunter, I'm middle aged. I knew the risks when I started this job."

I can't help myself. I feel my short temper explode. "What do you mean, you knew the risks? You were, what, six when Dad started teaching you this crap? What the hell does a six year old know about risks?" I hold my tongue as I watch what little color he has drain from his cheeks, and I force myself to calm down. He doesn't need to have a fight with me right now.

I look at my bed, where I'd carelessly tossed my phone earlier this evening. Dad isn't gonna call back. I know that. I'm not even gonna tell Dean I tried to get a hold of him. At least, not while he's still sick. It would, pardon the expression, break his heart. I squash down a surge of dislike for our father and turn to the tiny kitchenette in our room to make Dean's dinner.

While I'm sticking a to-go coffee cup filled with water in the microwave, I hear my name again. "Sam, I…" He doesn't know what to say. He's scared and he's hurting, but he doesn't know how to tell me these things. I wish he would. I could be there for him, if he'd let me.

"Sammy, I don't know what to say, man. I just… you know."

Yeah, I know. He's bound by some weird, unwritten rule that he made up that says he's not allowed to be anything but very stoic or a complete goof off. "Yeah, Dean, I know. You just need to focus on getting better. This guy's gonna help you. Joshua knows stuff like this." I wait again, wondering if Dean'll bring up Dad. I doubt he will. Dad's a sore subject on the best of days. Still, I wonder if he resents him a little. He has to, really. I mean, Dad's missed a lot with him. It was Bobby who rushed him to the hospital when his appendix ruptured. Dad didn't even know Dean was sick until Bobby called him. Dean had been sick when Dad had dropped us off.

I take the water out of the microwave and drop a bag into it. I set the tea and Jell-O on his bedside table. He looks more than half asleep again. "You still with me, Big Brother? You want to go to sleep again?" I rest my hand on his forehead and wince. He's so cold. He feels almost dead already. Damn, that's so morbid. I shake my head and sigh, banishing those thoughts from my head.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm here. And I do want this stuff. Never thought I'd say this, but that tea looks great. Smells awesome, too." he picks up the cup and stirs the bag with a plastic spoon.

I smile and sit on the edge of my bed. "Dean?" He looks up at me and meets my eyes. "It's Sam."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Brotherly Reflections

Author: Moonlight 80

Summary: Now it's Dean's turn to share.

A/N: Thank you so much to my awesome beta, Mad Server. She gave me a lot of great ideas that I wouldn't have thought of, and caught a lot of my mistakes and typos.

Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just a poor student who gets her kicks torturing fictional characters.

I don't really remember Sam waking me up this morning. I mean, one minute I was asleep and the next I just wasn't, but he was hovering over me, so I'm guessing he had something to do with my wakeful state. God, I wish I was still asleep, though. I always feel like I'm just on this side of hurling, when I'm awake. And I'm freezing. Not to mention I doubt if I could drag a cat a foot without coming out short of breath. I hate feeling weak like this.

I look up from the cup of tea Sam left for me to drink while he loads up the car. I might have taken three sips since he left. "Hey, we leaving or what?" Really, I'm not in that big of a rush to get there, but frankly, anything's better than this motel with its lumpy beds and its really crappy wallpaper that somehow reminds me of our old house's paper. Maybe it's just because all that's pretty fresh in my mind, though. The house, the pictures, _her_. I just need to get out of here.

"Just about. I'm letting the car warm up a little bit before we get you in there." He looks worried. Really worried. I guess I don't blame him, but I have to say I'm a little surprised. I mean, when I'm gone, the guy's pretty much free to do whatever he wants to do. I doubt he'll go back to Stanford, with his memories. Hell, he might even keep up this wild goose chase we're on. But I'm not gonna think about that. No way in hell am I gonna let myself think about that. I'm just gonna think about the fact that he's here now. I mean, after Sam left, I'd pretty much resigned myself to dying alone. Even having Sam here's a bonus I wasn't expecting. It's not Dad's fault he's somewhere across the country. I look at my teacup, but damned if I know what I'm looking for in there. Even if there were any tea leaves, Sam would be the one who could read them, with his powers, not me. I'm kinda useless in that department.

"Dean?" Sam's voice drags me out of my really depressing thoughts. He's looking at me like he wants me to answer something. I wasn't listening. Damn it, he looks a little worried. That's not what I want to see right now.

"Huh? I didn't catch that." I sip my tea again and glare at his coffee cup. The bastard has real, fresh brewed albeit sissified coffee, and he won't let me have any at all unless it's decaf. Says the caffeine won't do me any favors. Bastard. "sorry."

"I was asking if you were ready to go? The car's warm now so we can take off any time."

Oh lord, he's got that look in his eyes. I swear to God if he tries to hug me, bum heart or not, I'm kicking his ass. "Yeah, let's get out of this hell hole." I push myself up from the table slowly. GOD! It still hurts to move. I don't mean to make a noise, but I do and Sam's at my shoulder in a spilt second. "I'm good Florence, get off me." I push his hand away, even though last night I'd been more than happy to let him help me. But it's daylight and we're going out to the car. There's no way I'm gonna let him usher me out there with the little vacationing family upstairs watching us. Okay, so I don't know that there's anyone upstairs, let alone a little family of tourists, but there might be. I feel crappy enough without people watching me and, God forbid, feeling sorry for me. I don't look at Sam. He didn't deserve that, not really. He is only trying to help, after all. I compromise by letting him open the door of the car for me. I shoot him a sidelong glance. "I thought you said you had it warm in here."

"Dean, it's almost hot in here." He sounds almost defensive. "You want my coat? Or we could swipe a blanket from the room."

I smirk. "Is this my lawyer wannabe brother taking? You know that's a crime, right? Grand theft blanket."

He smiles for real and shakes his head. "I think they'd understand. I'll be right back." I watch him go back in the room and sigh to myself. He's bending over backwards for me, I have to admit that. I guess as long as I'm admitting things to myself, I can admit that it feels sort of good. So long as I never tell a living soul that I've said that. Even in my brain.

I sip my tea again and swear off the sappy thoughts. The tea's really not half bad. I like mint stuff, so that's good. And I don't feel like I'm gonna puke my guts out anymore. We'll see how I feel when we start driving. I have never been carsick in my life, but the way this is heading, I wouldn't be surprised. I roll my eyes and beg whatever's out there to not let me throw up in my baby. I don't think my reflexes are quite up to leaping out of a car right now.

I jump when Sam opens the car door. He smiles, but doesn't say anything about the fact that he startled me. "Alright, I got the blanket and a pillow. You wanna try to sleep?" He's trying so hard to act like he's not worried. Or maybe he's really not. Maybe this doctor guy is the real deal and it'll all be good. Or maybe he's thinking about what he can do when he doesn't have me telling him what we need to do anymore. God, that would suck. Still, I'm not the easiest person to live with, I guess.

I look at him and shake my head. "No, I'm good, I think. You should get some food in you before we take off. Can't have you passing out on our way to my only hope, right?" I try to smile and I think I do a pretty good job of it. I don't want him to know what I'm thinking. I mean, this is such a long shot and everything that even if I don't, you know, die on the way, there's really no guarantee that this guy is gonna cure me.

"Yeah, I guess not, but I want to get going as soon as we can. I'll just grab something from a drive through or something like that."   

Oh God, the very thought of some greasy breakfast sandwich from a fast food place really makes me want to hurl. "Um, could you not grab something from a drive through, please? I don't think I could handle it." This is so backwards. He's usually the one who seems disgusted by food. I like food. Well, I normally like food, anyway.

God, he's giving me that look again. That, _I really feel sorry for Dean, but I'm not gonna say I feel sorry for Dean_, look. "Yeah, I can eat something inside. You wanna come in and try to eat something too? Maybe have a cup of juice or something?"

I nod. I'm not hungry, but he doesn't want to eat alone. "Sure, I could have some juice. But let's find someplace with a no smoking rule." It's weird, I've never been one to let smells get to me. It used to be I could dig up a corpse and eat something ten minutes later. But right now, I feel like anything could set me off.

He seems to understand and, thank God, he doesn't say anything or ask me how I'm feeling. Right now, that would be the most pointless question in the world. He knows, and he knows I know he knows so anything I said would be a lie, because I'm not gonna tell him that I feel like my body's being torn up from the inside, that I can't get warm or stay warm or that I'm nauseous 99.9 of the time. 'Alright, a restaurant with no smoking. How does Village Inn grab you?"

I nod slowly. "Sounds good to me."

Sam pulls into the parking lot and he gets out. I wrestle with the door until he comes and opens it for me. I think my baby's been gaining weight or something, because I don't remember her door being half this heavy. It's okay if she has, I'll still love her. Sam would die if he heard what I was thinking right now. He'd laugh himself to death. I heave myself out of the car and blatantly ignore his ready hand, trying to guide me into the store. I'm not gonna let him help me like I'm some invalid. Not in public. He scowls at me. "Dean, you look like hell anyway. People are gonna think I'm some sort of sadist who likes watching his sick brother stagger along."

"Fuck 'em."

"So you're allowed to worry about what other people think of you, but I'm not allowed to worry about what people think of me?"

"I didn't say that. I just don't like knowing that people are staring at me and shaking their heads. Feeling sorry for me."

"They'll feel sorrier for you **i**f you fall on your ass. Or else they'll be wondering why you got started so early in the day, or why you didn't go home and sleep last night off."

I smile. We've argued ourselves right into the restaurant. He holds the door open for me. "Thanks honey, you're such a gentleman."

"Fuck you." He sounds almost relaxed again. His stomach growls when we're hit by the smells of the food. Mine flips over. The hostess is pretty hot, but I don't hit on her this time. I'm too busy trying not the think about being sick. "You okay?"

Crap, it was too good to last. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a little queasy, I guess."

Sam sighs and frowns a little bit. "You sure you don't want me to just grab something and go? It might be a good idea to drive as much as we can today. You know, get as far as we can before we need to crash. His stomach growls again and he makes an annoyed noise.

"Sammy, you're hungry, you didn't eat last night, did you?" I'm just guessing on that, honestly. I fell asleep right after I got to the motel. Funny thing is, I'm still tired. I guess it's because I really didn't sleep all that well. I kept waking up, and Sam was always there by my bed. I wonder if he moved at all. He made me eat - first Jell-O, then some broth around 2 in the morning - but I never saw him eat.

He shakes his head. "No, I guess I forgot." He looked at the menu, his stomach growling again.

"Are you ready to order?" I jump and wince involuntarily. Jerking motions are not so much fun right now.

"Uh, yeah, I'll just have a cup of coffee." I turn over my cup only to have it turned back down with a violence I'd forgotten my attentive brother had.

"He's kidding. He'll have orange juice and, do you have chicken soup?" He looks up at our waitress and tries to smile.

"Yes sir, we do." Poor girl looks scared out of her wits.

"Great, he'll have some of that. I'd like your French toast with blueberries and scrambled eggs, please." She nods and leaves the table quickly, forgetting to take our menus.

"Geez Sam, what did she do to you?"

"Nothing. I just didn't want her to give you any coffee. Can you just let me worry about you? You obviously aren't gonna worry about yourself." He sounds put out. Pissed, even.

"I am worrying about myself. Do you know what's gonna happen if I don't get some caffeine in me here pretty quick?"

"You shouldn't still be hooked on it. The doctor said he was gonna get you off of it because it raises your heart rate pretty significantly."

"Yeah, well, housekeeping can be bribed." Yes, I stooped to bribing someone for a cup of coffee. Only one a day, though.

"Dean! I don't believe you! Do you really want to check out early? Caffeine gives people heart trouble even when they aren't sick. Besides, you know you could have cost someone their job." He looks horrified.

I can't help myself and I smile, choosing to ignore the mini "your heart and you" lecture. "I never told on him, don't worry." My smile fades and I glare at him as he turns his mug over and the waitress fills it. She still looks scared, though. Like Sam's gonna explode any second. "Bastard…"

"You got something to say to me?" He tries to look innocent. "I'm not the one who's sick, remember."

"You shouldn't drink that in front of me, it's just cruel." My large glass of orange juice is set in front of me and I take a sip. It's really good, I have to admit. Tastes almost fresh squeezed.

Sam smiles and dumps about a million packets of sugar into his coffee. Great, I don't want it now, which might be what he's going for. Then he continues to ruin it by pouring half and half in there.

When our food comes I actually feel like I could eat a little bit of it. Sam pours some syrup over his French toast and watches me. "Dude, I am not that interesting. Eat up." I point with my spoon at his breakfast.

"You need to eat too, Dean." He takes a bite of eggs and starts to cut up his toast. God, even when he eats he multitasks.

"I am eating, see?" I take a mouthful of soup and close my eyes. It's really good. Better than the crap the hospital tried to force down me. No salt and no flavor at all. This stuff doesn't taste really salty, so I know it's probably not the canned stuff, and it doesn't taste like the canned, sodium free stuff either. Must be homemade. Oh, and it has carrots in it. And real chicken.

He's finished with his food before I'm even halfway through mine. It doesn't matter, I'm getting full. I push my bowl away. "I'm done."

"You sure? I can wait for you."

"Yeah, I'm good. Don't really want to eat too much, ya know. I'd really rather keep it down." I can joke about throwing up now, because it doesn't feel like such a real possibility. "I wonder if I can get another glass of orange juice to go."

He smiles. "I'm sure they won't mind."

Sam pays in cash and we're on our way. He opens the door for me again and I sigh. This is gonna be one long trip if he keeps treating me like some frail old man who can't do anything for himself.


	3. Chapter 3

-1Title: Brotherly Reflections

Author: Moonlight 80

Summary: Dean's starting to feel worse, so Sam is forced to stop for the night. A Faith missing scene.

A/N: Thank you so much to Mad Server, an awesome beta who allows me to steal her ideas and use them as my own.

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine.

I pull the Impala into a nicer-than-usual motel parking lot and head inside. Dean doesn't even stir when I shut the engine off, and he's normally awake as soon as we slow down, if he sleeps at all. After I pay for the room, I walk back to the car and tap on Dean's window. When he doesn't wake up, I open the door slowly, just in case he's leaning on it. "Hey, Dean?" I sigh very softly. He's white and seems to look worse than he did this morning. I'm past hoping that the pasty skin and dark patches under his eyes are a trick of the light. No neon sign can make someone look this sick. After breakfast he really went down hill. He threw up three times this afternoon before falling asleep, and now he won't wake up. "Come on Dean, we're here. You can sleep in a real bed now."

"Hmm?" He finally opens his eyes and blinks owlishly at me. "Time is it?" His words slur, the way they do when he's had way too much to drink.

"It's about 9:30." I'm a little worried about stopping this early, because the "sessions" start right at 4 in the afternoon, and we might be set back a whole day, but it's a risk I have to take. Dean needs to be in bed right now.

"9:30? Isn't that a little early to be stopping for…" He moves his legs over the side of the car, swallows convulsively and leans on his elbows.

I step to the other side of him, where I can reach him more easily and rest my hand on his shoulder as he starts dry heaving painfully. His hand grips his shirt, right above his heart, and sweat stands out on his forehead. "I'm sorry…"

I blink. This is not my brother talking. For one thing, he doesn't apologize for anything, let alone something he can't help. I clap him on the back in what I hope is a sympathetic but not too sappy way and clear my throat. "Dean… what the hell do you have to be sorry for?"

He just shrugs. I guess he doesn't trust himself to talk quite yet.

I swallow, blink very quickly and try to smile at him. "Come on Dean, let's get you inside." I hold my hand out to him. He takes it and allows me to pull him to his feet.

"God damn Sammy…" He closes his eyes, "dizzy."

"I know, I gotcha." I wrap my arm more firmly around his waist and pretty much carry him into the room I checked us into. After I get him settled into bed, I feel his forehead and cheeks. "God Dean, you're so cold." He always seems worse at night, anyway. I think it's the wear of the day catching up to him.

"Sam, if this doc of yours doesn't work out…"

"It'll work Dean. I swear it'll work."

"But if it doesn't, I want you to take my phone. Keep it turned on for like, a year or so. Long enough for people like Jerry to get used to the fact that you're the Winchester on duty now." He just assumes that I'm going to be doing this crap without him. I don't know what I'll be doing if this doesn't work. I will not think that way. I bite the inside of my cheek. God, first his car, now his phone… Dean never needs to write a will; he just gave me the only things that mean anything to him. He sets his phone on the nightstand, something he always does anyway, but he looks at me oddly. "If we get a job between now and when I, you know, kick it, I want you to take it. I wouldn't be much good right now, and this is a nice place. Nicer than anywhere I've crashed in awhile. You bring me back here, then go, okay."

"Dean, I told you at the hospital, and I'm telling you now, I'm not gonna leave you. Here or anywhere else." When he doesn't respond I stand up. "You want some tea?"

"God no." His mood seems a little bit lighter now that he's got that off his chest. He even smiles, even though it's about as forced as mine have been today. "I'm not a big fan of puking up my toenails, thanks."

I can't help but smile for real at that. "Nice visual there, Dean. But you need to try to keep something down. You don't want to pass out or anything. This'll help keep your strength up." I hand him a cup of cherry Jell-o and a spoon. "No one ever throws up Jell-o, I think it's scientifically impossible." He takes the cup and eats it halfheartedly, and even then, he only puts away half of it. He lies back on his pillows, closes his eyes and tries to sleep, and I pull out a book to read.

About twenty minutes after finishing his Jell-o, Dean gets up as quickly as he can and heads into the bathroom. When he's finished he staggers out and gives me the most resentful look he can muster in his weakened state. "No one can throw up Jell-o, he says." He's gripping his chest in a pained way and is even whiter than he was before. He braces his hand on the wall before he heads for his bed.

"Hey, I've never known anyone who did before. Leave it to you to prove me wrong on purpose." I swing my legs over the side of my bed, ready to help him get settled down again, if he needs me to. But he really seems to want to do it himself. "Besides, you have to admit, it feels a hell of a lot better to actually lose something than it does to dry heave."

"Are you seriously asking me to say that one form of heaving is better than the other? That's messed up, even for you." He tugs at the covers to get them over his body, but he seems to be fighting a losing battle. He breaks a sweat and closes his eyes, looking exhausted. I pull the covers around him myself.

"Whatever man." I watch him shiver. "You want me to crank the heat up?"

"If you want to." He shrugs. "Hey, Sammy, I know we've been talking about this, but, if this guy doesn't work out, I want you to do something for me, okay."

I wince. He's already given me his phone and his car, if he asks me to call Dad for him, I'm gonna lose it. I already tried, but I'll be damned if I tell him that. Tell him that his own father doesn't care enough to even call and try to talk to him. I square my shoulders and clear my throat. "What's that?"

"I'm gonna need you to take me to Illinois."

"Okay, I'll bite. What's in Illinois?" I feel relief shoot through me. This isn't gonna be a death bed quest for Dad, or anything else I can't handle right now.

"Only the best lay I have ever had in my life. Her name's Judith. She's 55 years young, has a hotter body than most chicks half her age, and, oh man, the things she taught me. Dude, you wouldn't believe the things she taught me." His cheeks actually seem to have a little bit of color in them right now. It amazes me how much better he seems when he's talking about sex.

"God Dean, I don't suppose it would help if I told you that you aren't healthy enough for sexual activity right now."

"Can't think of a better way to check out, Sammy. If you say you can, you're lying."

"God you're sick, you know that?"

"You're jealous."

"Of what?"

"You just wish you could score a Cougar this hot."

"Yeah Dean, that must be it." I hand him the remote. "You wanna watch some TV?" Anything to take his mind off of death and Cougars and whatever the hell else.

He turns on the TV and sighs happily. "_The Dick van Dyke Show _is always a good bet." Sometimes I can't get over the fact that he loves the classics as much as he does. I mean, given his choice of music and cars, it shouldn't surprise me, but it does anyway. He should be watching something a little more raunchy, I guess. The shows they had back in the day seem too "G" rated for him. "Hey Sammy?" He sounds really tired, but somehow more animated than he did earlier this evening. I guess that's what the thought of hot Cougar sex will do to people like him. "You ever wonder how Rob and Laura had a kid, sleeping in separate beds like that?"

I grin. We have this conversation every time we watch shows like this. _I Love Lucy_, _Leave it to Beaver_, we've watched all of them and they've all given way to a discussion of how sex was possible back in the day. "They must have shoved the beds together at least once in their married lives."

"Man, censors or not, if I was Dick, I would have pitched all hell if I couldn't even pretend I was getting some of that hot ass. And those pants she wore… showed off everything."

I roll my eyes but smile. "Are we gonna watch TV Land all night?"

"Till I fall asleep, yeah." He sounds as if he's already more than halfway there right now. "Those chicks just had something that the chicks on shows nowadays don't have anymore. When I'm asleep you can watch _Queer Eye _or whatever it is you watch."

"I watched _Queer Eye _once, Dean. Once. You act like I'll turn it on whenever you aren't in the room." I look over at him when he doesn't answer. He's already sleep. I pull my comforter off my bed and tuck it around him, then touch his icy cheek lightly before taking the remote off his pillow and turning off the TV set. Then I sit on the side of my bed and watch him sleep for a while. I'm sort of afraid to fall asleep, to tell the truth. Afraid I won't be able to hear him if he stops breathing in the night or something. I try to stay awake for as long as I can, but find myself drifting off even as I'm sitting up, so I give in eventually, and stretch out on my bed. I listen to him sleep and look at him one more time before turning off the lights. His breathing is shallow and labored, but he looks more peaceful and less like he's in pain than he does when he's awake. Then I sit back up and turn the bedside lamp back on. I set my alarm to wake me up every hour, just in case.

I swear by all that's holy, if this Roy guy can cure him, I'll never take my brother for granted again.


	4. Chapter 4

-1Title: Brotherly Reflextions

Author: Moonlight 80

Summary: Time's running out as Sam tries to get Dean to his Specialist. I'd add suspense music here, but come on, we all know how it ends. "Faith" missing scene finale.

A/N: Thank you so much to my awesome beta, Mad Server. If she wasn't so patient about all my mistakes, this story would pretty much suck.

Disclaimer: Nope, will never own them, thanks though.

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I'm not sure what wakes me up at four-thirty in the morning. It's either my snoring (I always snore when I'm either sick or drop-dead tired - today, I'm both), the sharp, shooting pain in my chest or the nausea. It's probably a combination of all three, actually. Lucky me.

It's raining, I can tell. The curtains are pulled, but I can hear it. Perfect, the weather matches how I feel. Wow, that was very, I hate to use this word, but Emo. I stand up and take my comforter with me to go outside, watch the rain and think about things. Things like the fact that this very well could be my last day on Earth, and I'm using it to stand outside and watch the rain, and other stupid things like that. I wonder if I should call Dad. If this doctor guy of Sammy's doesn't work out, I think I will. I'd like to see him again. I blink quickly. I'm not afraid to die, and if I had it to do over again, I wouldn't have done anything differently, but, somehow, I wish… I mean, I'm just getting to know my kid brother again after four years. He's different now. I guess normal living does that to a person, but still, he's different, and frankly, I'd have like to have gotten to know him a little better.

Anyway, I guess now's as good a time as any to look back on my life and think about what I would have done differently, given the chance. God, I really don't want to do this, though. I guess if I'm gonna be all mature and look back at my life from that point of view… I lean on the hand rail and stare at a mud puddle, frowning.

"Dean?" And my little brother saves me again. This time from not so fun thoughts.

I tear my eyes away from my puddle, which is quickly becoming a lake, but don't look him in the eye, even though I turn around to face him. "Hey Sammy." I grip the handrail tightly behind my back and keep my expression carefully neutral, determined not to let him see how much it hurts to move.

"What the hell are you doing out here? You'll get sick." He doesn't really buy that, but he wants to get me inside.

I snort quietly. "News flash,I _am _sick, Sammy. Trust me, I'd rather have pneumonia next to this." I rub my forehead and look at my puddle again. I hear Sam huff behind me and the next thing I know, he's leaning on my railing with me. "Dude, personal bubble here. Heart disease doesn't give you a free license to encroach."

He slides to my right, but doesn't stop leaning with me. "I know you're sick. That's why you shouldn't be out here. Besides, you should be asleep. We have a long day ahead of us."

I shrug. "There'll be time enough to sleep when I'm dead. Which, if that doctor back in that town we left is right, could be any time now."

"God! I am so sick of this blasé attitude of yours." He hits the railing with his palm and rubs his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed.

"The bla-what…" I look at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Blasé. It means you don't give a rat's ass that you're dying." He glares at me through one half opened eye. "You think I'm speeding God knows how many miles in three days just so that I can say 'yeah, I did all I could' after you're gone? And you'd better think long and hard before you answer that the wrong way."

I close my eyes myself briefly, then turn my head to face him. "No, I don't think you're doing it for that. I guess I just sort of have to see it to believe it. I mean, if I was a doctor and I could make people like me better, I'd be telling the world. Get my mug on every one of those medical mags, and get a Nobel Prize, make an ass load of money, pick up chicks and whatever else a really awesome doctor can do. I wouldn't just put the word out and let people find out about me from a friend of a friend. So I figure, this guy might not be the miracle cure Joshua said he was."

"I trust Joshua on this. He's never steered us wrong. Remember that time an Efreet practically killed me? He was the one who sent Dad to that Shaman for the right herbs to cure me, and I was on my feet in no time."

"So, you think this doctor might not be completely approved by the modern medical field?" I look over at my brother questioningly.

"Something like that. I mean, why else would Joshua know and a certified MD not know?"

"Because certified MDs are out to make money and if he knows that there's some doc out there curing heart disease, he'd be out of a job?"

"Fair enough." He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. "Now, if you aren't going to go back to sleep, you want to try to eat something?"

My stomach lurches from what could either be hunger or extreme not hunger. "Yeah, I could try. You got any more of that beef soup?" I've decided that "broth" sounds too invalid-y. "And Ritz crackers?"

He smiles and nods. "Yeah, we have both. Come on." He opens the door and I walk through, giving him a rather evil eye. I don't need the door held for me. "When I get better you're gonna have to get used to not babying me anymore, you know."

Sam smiles and lets the door close behind us. "I've hardly been babying you. You act like I've been…"

"Don't finish that thought if you want to live." I sit down on my bed and take my shoes off then toss them in the general direction of the door. Damn, they don't go very far. I must be weaker than I thought. If Sam saw, he doesn't say anything about it, though, which is a relief. With the shoes out of the way, I weigh the pros and cons of getting all the way back in bed. The only real con is that my pride would suffer a lot from being waited on, but Sam would bring me my soup anyway, so that sort of puts that argument away. Besides, I'm cold and the bed's warm, and there's really no reason to fight that logic. I get under the comforter and pull it around my shoulders. I'll sit up again when Sam brings me my sick people crap. I didn't know I was shivering until I got under these covers. Why does getting warm remind you that you've been really cold? I sort of feel like I'm floating and as soon as I start to warm up a little, I close my eyes.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"You still want this?"

I open my eyes and look at him. I must have dozed off while I was waiting. "Huh? Yeah, thanks." I shove myself up on my elbows and sort of fall against my pillows in a half sitting position. He grips my shoulders and gently hauls my up until I'm sitting all the way up. I open my mouth to tell him that I'm not made of glass, but close it. Breath is too precious to waste right now, and I don't want him to accuse me of protesting too much. Contrary to popular belief, I do know when to hold my tongue. "Smells good, Sammy." I dip a cracker (low sodium, of course, but still Ritz) in the soup and frown. The bowl is this blue plastic thing that I could have sworn I'd seen at the hospital. If he stole that too, he is so on the path to being a crooked injury lawyer. "Is that 7-Up?" I ask, not wanting to ask too many questions about the bowl.

He smiles and sits in a chair next to my bed. I feel like I'm back in the hospital "Bobby swears by it, remember? He'd always give it to us when Dad would ditch us at his place and we were sick."

"Yeah, I can't drink it when I'm not sick, even in booze. It reminds me of puking my guts up when I was a kid. It was his cure-all."

"It could have been a lot worse. I always wondered when his books were going to teach him that leeches really did make you better, or something like that."

"I'm not sure he didn't put them on us when we were too out of it to notice." I open the 7-Up bottle and take a swig. It tastes like being a kid. It's funny how great of a dad Bobby was to us, now that I think about it. The man never had any kids, that I know of, and he's the gruffest person any five year old could ever hope to meet. Still, he was almost like family back in the day.

I finish half my soup and manage to put away three crackers before I start to feel queasy. Sam takes them away and sets them on the bedside table. "You should try to get back to sleep. I think I'll stay up and try to figure out the quickest way to get us where we need to be." He stands up and helps me to lie back down. I do pull the blankets up myself, seeing as I don't need my kid brother tucking me in. "Night Dean." It's morning, but I'm too tired to correct him. The last thing my brain registers is Sam unfolding the map we have of Nebraska.

--------------------

Sam's talking to me, but he sounds like he's underwater or something. I feel his hand on my shoulder and he shakes me. "Dean?" He sounds panicked. "Dean, come on, Man, wake up."

"'M wake, Sammy…" I sound half dead, or drunk, or stoned, but at least I say something.

He lets out a long breath. "Thank God." He doesn't need to tell me what he was thinking, I can hear it in his voice. "I'm gonna go load up the car, you think you can try to wake up a little more?" This is how I talked to him when he had the chicken pox when he was seven. Never thought I'd see the day he'd talk to me like that.

Now I want to get better if only to get him to stop being the big brother. It's like being in one of those dreams you see on TV sitcoms where everything is wrong. This is all just wrong to me. "Yeah Sam, I got it." I force my eyes open and look at him.

When Sam comes back I'm up and around… sort of. I did manage to get myself dressed, but I got back on my bed after I'd done that, so I'm not sure if that counts. "Dean, you ready? We sort of overslept, so we need to hurry." He looks apologetic, but I'm not sure why. For rushing me, maybe.

He's wearing that worried look when he comes over to my bed and offers me his hand. I take it and pull myself up. "Yeah, I'm ready." I steady myself on his shoulder as my body tries to tell me that, no, we certainly are not ready. He lets me stand like this, with my hand resting on him until I'm ready to pull away. The freaky part about this morning is that I feel worse. A lot worse. And I'm weaker than I was yesterday, or even this morning. But I'm not about to tell Sam this. I don't want to see that look on his face any more than I have to.

"Wear this, it's still raining." He hands me the sweatshirt I've been wearing since I got sick. "It's chilly out, even for me." We still have the stolen blanket and pillow, so I'm not too worried about staying warm. "I'll swing by a coffee drive-thru and get a muffin or something." He doesn't say anything about me getting something, which is fine because I don't think I could hold it down if I did. Just being on my feet's enough to make me feel like tossing my cookies.

He glances at me when I don't reply. "You okay Dean? I know you're still tired, but you can sleep on the way."

"I'm good, Sam, don't worry so much." I try to roll my eyes and look put out. "Let's just head out, if we got everything."

He nods and gives the room a once over before leading me out to the car. I don't fight him touching me this time. I'm not sure if I can make it by myself right now.

I know he's scared because he puts in my favorite Metallica tape without making some uncalled for comment. He pulls the car up to a drive thru and orders himself a girly coffee and an equally girly muffin. "You want anything, Dean?"

I shake my head. "I'm good, Sammy." All I want right now is to go to sleep, honestly. He seems to be able to tell because he just nods again and turns the music down a little bit.

I don't know how long I've been asleep, but a jarring bump jerks my out of it painfully. "Wha…" I look at Sam, who's a lot more relaxed than he was earlier.

"We're almost there, and we're just in time." He sounds cheerful, hopeful, even. "You awake enough?"

"Yeah, I'm good." I stuff the blanket in the back seat and look out the window. It's still raining, and this place looks like farmland. In fact, I'm surprised I don't see cows. What the hell sort of doctor sets up his practice on a farm? "Sam, where are we?"

"I just told you, we're almost there."

This doesn't look like almost anywhere to me. He turns a corner and I can see where the road dead ends. There are a lot of people here, but it still doesn't look like a hospital or anything like that. I look at the tent that all the people seem to be heading towards. Or rather, I look at the sign on the tent.

What the hell…?

Fin


End file.
